


Something Right

by Leela, moodwriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodwriter/pseuds/moodwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek each do something right for the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovenhardt1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovenhardt1/gifts).



>   
> Banner by moodwriter
> 
> This is a gift fic for lovenhardt1 who has her birthday today. She inspires us all with her sweet, sweet nature. We love you. <3 Happy birthday, bb.

The reason why Stiles has been busy for most of the summer is the long vertical scar on Derek’s back. Werewolves have perfect skin. No matter how much you torment them, they always bounce back. 

Except, Derek didn’t. 

It has made Derek darker somehow, and that’s an achievement. Derek was never sunshine and happiness. His mouth is not made for smiling. 

So Stiles has been busy, and he hasn’t spent much time with the pack, the pack that Scott now leads, the pack that has more human members than is good for it. Derek is a part of it, no matter how much he tries not to be. He can’t stay away because he feels responsible for Scott, and Stiles, he stands in the middle, helps them keep their limbs while they are in the same room. 

Even after Deucalion and Jennifer and all that they went through back then, Scott and Derek still don’t speak the same language. Stiles is the interpreter, and somehow, it works.

Scott is not as bad an Alpha as Derek was, but he’s less judgmental now that he’s doing it himself. It’s not easy. 

Especially since people come to them for help. Their Alpha is the True Alpha, and that means he has a different kind of strength. That is the word on the street. Some people even think Scott is the new Messiah. 

That’s why Stiles called him the Savior for a week. Scott did not take it well. 

Stiles being busy also means he hasn’t seen Derek for a while. That’s why he’s not surprised when Derek climbs in through the window, grumpy as usual.

“Hello,” Stiles says without turning to look at Derek. He’s sitting at his desk, reading the essay he’s just written, biting the end of his pencil.

Derek grunts. He lurks in the shadows of Stiles’ room, and since the only light Stiles has on is the lamp on his table Derek has plenty of shadows to hide in. 

“What’s up?” Stiles finally asks, because Derek isn’t going to say anything. He might even leave after quietly invading Stiles’ personal space. That’s always way too creepy. 

“I’m bored.”

That there sparks Stiles’ interest. A bored werewolf is a dangerous werewolf, and Derek doesn’t usually have the time to get bored, or if he does he never tells Stiles about it. “And you decided to share that with me because?”

“Unbore me.”

Stiles looks up. His heart leaps. “Oh my god, we’re friends.”

Derek doesn’t look at him, but he sits down on Stiles’ bed. “Yeah, so?”

“We talk. We do the talking thing. Oh my god, you let me unbore you.” Stiles feels warmed down to his toes. It must show on his face because Derek rolls his eyes. Then Derek goes absolutely still. 

Stiles swallows. 

Derek has seen it.

It’s on the shelf at the head of Stiles’ bed. 

“What is that?” Derek says carefully, getting up again. “Stiles?”

“Um…” He didn’t mean to show it just yet. He isn’t ready. He doesn’t have a plan. He can’t just give it to Derek, can he?

Derek looks hurt, open, vulnerable, and Stiles has no idea what to do. “How?” Derek asks, stalking closer to the shelf.

“Junk shop,” Stiles whispers. 

“It’s fixed.” Derek looks at Stiles, then at the pocket watch that’s resting in an open box. “It’s working. How is it working? I don’t… Stiles?” 

Stiles bites his lip. There’s no air in the room. “I found it. It’s engraved, and I just knew.” 

Derek touches the watch with his fingertip, slides it over the glass. “It was my mom’s.”

“I know,” Stiles says as softly as he can. He’s never seen Derek like this. 

“She carried it everywhere, told stories about it. It’s survived wars, floods, and a fall from a tree house.” Derek sounds like he’s talking to himself, like he doesn’t remember Stiles is there too. “I don’t have anything of hers.” 

Stiles makes a quick decision, gets up, and walks to Derek, not thinking because thoughts would only make him second guess. “It’s been my summer project,” he says when he stands next to Derek. “The internet is a weird place. It teaches you all kinds of things.”

“ _You_ fixed it?”

“Yeah… It took me forever, but I loved doing it. It was relaxing, too, almost felt like there was something calming attached to the watch.”

Derek nods, taking it in his hand. When he looks at Stiles it seems like he’s asking for permission. As if it isn’t his. As if Stiles would take it away from him. 

“It’s yours,” Stiles simply says, and it’s enough. 

Derek puts the watch inside the breast pocket of his jacket, then puts a hand over his heart. “I can feel it tick.”

Maybe this was the perfect way to give it to Derek.

“Thank you.” Derek pulls Stiles into a hug, and it’s so rare it steals Stiles’ words and thoughts. He doesn’t know where to put his hands so he feebly grabs Derek’s shirt under his jacket and just lets Derek hold him. “Thank you.”

Stiles breathes with Derek for a short while, then lets Derek pull back when it’s time. “I’m just glad it found its way back home,” Stiles says, and Derek nods, taking a firm step back, then another one. 

Derek is almost out of the window when Stiles hears him say: “You unbored me.”

Stiles smiles. He did something right.

* 

Every morning, Derek winds the watch. Every night, he places it on his nightstand. He carries it with him everywhere, in the pocket of his jacket or of his jeans. Its steady tick-tock sets the rhythm of his life, reminding him that he’s not alone, making it possible for him to talk to Scott and take part in the life of the Beacon Hills pack without it being a dagger-sharp reminder of the death of the Hale pack.

The watch is his family and his talisman. It enables him to snarl at Scott and just say, “No,” to Scott’s latest idea for a pack bonding experience, and not so coincidentally doing something Allison likes, instead of rending Scott limb from limb.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles says. “It won’t be that bad. You can wear your jeans and boots. Just add a lace-up shirt…”

“Unlaced,” Lydia adds, very unhelpfully.

Stiles, interestingly enough, blushes and stammers at the suggestion, clearly losing his train of thought. “Un... uh... unla... yeah... okay. That’s one possibility for sure, but the point is... the point I was trying to make is that it’s really not that bad, and could even be good if Derek’s into some of the things that they have there.”

“The Ren Faire is so much fun. You’ll see,” Allison says. “And I know just where we can get clothes for it.”

“No,” Derek snaps, touching the watch a little more carefully to avoid scratching it with his claws. Its steady beat, the smooth glass and shaped metal calm him, remind him that he’s pack, that he does belong somewhere. That someone — Stiles — cares enough to want him there, cares enough to find the watch and repair it himself.

Derek swallows and rubs the chain attached to the watch between his fingers. He said thank you, at least he’s pretty sure he did, but it doesn’t feel anything like enough for a gift like this. 

“So you’re coming, right?”

Stiles’ question takes Derek by surprise, and from the way Stiles’ eyes widen, Derek wasn’t able to hide it.

“No,” he says, and almost bites through his tongue not to change that to _maybe_.

Because Stiles responds with “Please?”

Luckily, Scott interrupts him with one of his insulting jokes about Stiles and a jester’s hat.

Taking that as a sign, Derek moves around the Stilinski backyard and into the house. He’s standing in the kitchen, opening a bottle of water and _not_ watching Stiles through the window, when the Sheriff joins him. 

“Sir,” Derek says, because this is Stiles’ dad and he doesn’t want to get on his bad side.

“John,” the Sheriff corrects him. “I thought we were past that formality, Derek.”

“Yes... John.”

“Everything all right?”

“Fine.” The answer is automatic as is the nod that goes with it. But then Derek glances out the window again, at where Stiles is laughing, eyes brighter than the moon, and he’s reminded that this man, of all the people around Stiles, would be able to help Derek. “I want to get him something to say thank you.”

John’s heart trips a beat as he follows Derek’s gaze to Stiles, then steadies. “He gave you the watch.”

It’s not really a question, but Derek says, “Yes,” anyway.

After a weighing look, John nods and seems to be satisfied with whatever he sees in Derek. “There’s a book his mom wrote.” His face reddens, and the air fills with the bitter scents of regret and shame. “I threw it out one night, when I was drunk.”

They talk for a while longer, John providing more information. Then Derek slips out the front door as the others start heading back to the house. 

Finding the book takes work. The only thing that the local bookstore can tell him is that it’s long out of print and to try the internet. That means buying a laptop and then persuading Danny to show Derek which sites he should use. 

For a few seconds, Derek considers getting Danny to find the book for him, but the gift wouldn’t mean as much if he doesn’t do it himself. Like Stiles did.

Eventually though, a used book website links him to a bookstore in Toronto that has a signed copy of Claudia Stilinski’s one and only book. Two weeks later, Derek is knocking on the Stilinski’s front door.

John answers, dressed in his uniform. 

“If this is a bad time,” Derek offers.

“Not at all. I was just on my way to the station.” John gives the box in Derek’s hand a meaningful glance. “Stiles is up in his room. Why don’t you knock on the door and surprise him this time?”

Before Derek can come up with an answer to that, John is waving goodbye and heading toward his car. 

After a brief argument with himself, Derek goes into the house. Walking up the stairs is an odd feeling. He’s almost never gone to Stiles’ room this way. To make himself feel better, he pushes open the door without knocking. 

Stiles is sitting at his desk, earbuds in, fingers tapping the keys in a crazy fast rhythm that Derek couldn’t match if he tried. Not if he wanted to type something that wasn’t nonsense. 

The window is wide-open, which makes Derek smile. He leans against the door jamb and knocks on the wood.

His heartbeat racing, Stiles jumps and tears out his earbuds. “Oh my god, Derek. What the fuck, man, you almost gave me a heart attack, and I’m way too young for something like that.” Then he looks from Derek to the window and back again. “You came in the door. Why did you do that? Is something wrong? Is everyone okay?”

Derek moves to stand in front of him and puts a finger on Stiles’ soft — oh-so-soft and tempting — lips. “Everyone’s fine. I just wanted to bring you something.”

“Me? Seriously?”

The shock in Stiles’ voice and on his face makes Derek wish he’d wrapped the box in colorful paper. Or remembered to reseal the shipping box.

“Seriously,” Derek says, and holds the box out.

When Stiles takes it, Derek has to fight the urge to leave through the window but he forces himself to stay and watch Stiles. 

Instead of tearing into the box, Stiles runs his fingers over the flaps. His heart has slowed a little, but it’s still beating faster than is healthy for a human. Derek tucks his left hand into his jacket pocket and runs his thumb around the brass circle.

Stiles opens one flap and then another, tucking them back carefully before touching the styrofoam peanuts. He stirs them a little and then slides his fingers into the box. A few of them cling to the cellophane wrapped around the book. He brushes them off, turns the book over.

His breath hitches, almost a sob. “Mom,” he breathes, almost too low for Derek to hear. 

He caresses the book with his fingertips, opens it and reads the inscription. His eyes flick over the letters, again and again. Tears glisten on his lashes. 

It’s almost painful to be there, and Derek takes a step toward the window. “I should...”

“No.”

Derek freezes in his tracks. He watches Stiles put the book down on his desk, run his fingers over it one more time, obviously reluctant to leave it there. Then he almost doesn’t catch Stiles when he launches himself at Derek.

“Thank you!” Stiles hugs Derek so tight that the barely healed scar sends a twinge of pain down Derek’s spine. “Oh my god, thank you! You have no idea. Except you do, don’t you? You know exactly how much I love yo... this.”

Then, before Derek can say anything, Stiles is squeezing him tighter and kissing him. And Derek pulls his hand out of his pocket, releasing his watch, and he hugs Stiles and kisses him back. 

The pain from his scar means nothing.

He did something right.


End file.
